


Better as Friends

by xtenn



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtenn/pseuds/xtenn
Summary: Ah, Karen and Matt. Those fools will never quite get it right. A short story on Matt's inability to be honest with Karen or keep her from harm, unfortunately resulting in Karen suffering - with a touch of yearning and lust in there as well.Note: this work references non-consensual sex, date rape, substance abuse, and even a touch of PTSD. Please take care of yourself.xxx
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Kudos: 4





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> A few random words I put together. It was meant to light but 2020 got to me, and here we are. 
> 
> A work in progress and a first attempt at posting, well, anything.

"You don't have to go, you know. On that date. With Steve."

Matt hadn't looked up from his desk or acknowledged Karen standing at the door to his office. Yet of course he had heard everything. Oh God. 

"... what?"

"Look ..." Matt pushed his papers away and continued confidently, with a slight laugh. "I know you don't want to go..."

"You know ... what?" 

"It's not my business but Jesus Karen! The way he talks to you? The guy's a creep." 

Karen let out a long exhale, but he could feel the clench of her fists around the documents she was holding, heard her heart hammer furiously in her chest. Hypocritical arsehole. 

"Well you ARE right. It's not your business. But I need those documents for Mrs Chan, so when you have a moment, if you'd be so kind?" Cold and dismissive. Nice one, Matt. Real smooth.

And with a slam of her door, Karen was back in her office. 

\--------------

Karen cracked her neck, took deep breaths and tried to focus on her work. Damn know-it-all. 

Well, at least she knew how to use her phone's camera. A new rule required Matt to text when he got in each night - with a photo, and the results were nothing short of hilarious. And, Karen grudgingly admitted, with each text, trust was slowly being rebuilt and their fledgling firm was gaining ground. 

What had Matt said? He would be "forever grateful to her" and "cared more for her and Foggy than he ever thought possible" but they were "better as friends". 

Focus on work. Thinking about Matt in any capacity made Karen paranoid that it would lead to an inadvertent blush that would stretch across her cheeks, her heart skipping, that light sweat and the heaviness of yearning between her legs. Calm breath, calm heart. Don't let him know he got to you. There's work on that Smythe file to do. Calm breath, calm heart, start reading ... 

DAMN YOU MATT. Karen internally screamed, slamming down her pencil. She'd been turning down Steve for months now, always good-naturedly with valid, reasonable and plain language reasons: she was busy, she wasn't interested in dating right now, and she wasn't interested in dating him. Never perturbed, Steve would laugh and ask again the following week. But today, Steve had come by the office to drop something off and he'd overheard Foggy and Karen in the tiny kitchen discussing their weekend plans, or entire lack thereof, and all of a sudden there was no way out - literally or figuratively. Steve filled the tiny space, being over six feet tall and broad shouldered, heavily muscled from his construction work, and with the wound still raw from Matt's gentle but firm rejection, her excuses had evaporated. Friday night, drinks then diner. Steve had flamboyantly kissed her hand, and Karen's cheeks had traitorously blushed. Foggy had discretely stepped away and had been no help at all.

Steve's good looking, charming and at least he's into you. It's just a date. Go out and enjoy it. 

It was just so humiliating knowing that Matt was right.


	2. Friday Evening

The soft powder scent. Rhythmic brushing of her hair in smooth strokes. Pulling on a dress ... new? It was too tight to swish and it was short, revealing all of her long legs, made even longer as she pulled on some very high heels, with a click on the tiles . 

Matt could hear and smell and sense all of it from his desk. The snap of makeup containers, cool hands flicking her hair and smoothing down the outfit. A pitter patter of nervous heartbeats. A crack of the neck, left then right, and a deep breath.

Matt loathed his lust for Karen, sensing at times how strongly it might be reciprocated and knowing it should never be acted upon. Don't tie her to your life any more than you already have. And snap out of it, you creep. Get your ears out of the bathroom and get out of here before Steve arrives. 

"Foggy! Drinks! Josie's! We on, or not?"

"We are ON! Gotta grab something for Marci first though - meet you there in ten minutes. K, you coming?"

Bathroom door opens and closes, the feminine step of those shoes. She's standing there, a few feet away, and it's too much, too close. Her scent, radiating warmth. It could have been you, Matt. You idiot.

"HOT DAMN Karen, that's right! You've got that dinner with Steve! Who does not deserve you, by the way, but no one does ..." Foggy kissed her on the cheek in farewell. "Enjoy dinner - and come by the bar later, because we're going to want to hear about that date. RIght, Matt? See ya there!"

And Foggy is gone. Matt gathers his glasses, his cane and his jacket, feeling clumsy and obvious, rushed. Speak up now, Matt. Apologise!

"Uh ... Karen?"

"No it's OK Matt, you don't need to say anything..."

"No, I do. Please. I'm sorry, I really am. I'll get the Chan file sorted for you by Monday. And .. as far as I can tell, you look great - have fun, really."

God I need a drink, and then to hit something. 

___________ 

Beers. Whisky. Pool with Foggy. The buzz of voices, the warmth of the booze, the stupid jokes.

"Well! No Karen tonight. God she's great, isn't she? Terrible taste in men, though ... present company not excepted ..."

Matt grimaced and flicked his coaster, hitting Foggy on the forehead. 

"But Steve and Karen, though? I need your thoughts on this, Murdock. He IS a creep, right? God he's been harassing her for MONTHS. I thought she would just reject him again but he would not stop and here we are ... Josie's, no Karen. Eh, well, at least she can handle herself, right, Matt?!" 

"Mmhm yeh, of course." Make this conversation stop.

"Couldn't it have been that friend of Ellison at least, whatshisname? Jacob? Jason? But hey, at least it's not Frank Castle, amiright?" Matt suddenly feels very sober. 

"Yeh time for me to go I think." I need to hit something. Preferably someone. 

"Nooooo! Matt, it's still early!" Foggy pauses, eyes widen. "Matt, buddy ... don't tell me, Karen, you, you're not having any regrets ..." 

"No, course not." Whisky finished in a sudden slam, grab the cane. "I'm heading out. Just the gym. Maybe the usual. See you Monday."

Smooth, Matt. Not obvious at all.

___________

How creepy would it be, exactly, to check she got home OK? Just on a usual patrol. Wouldn't even be out of his way. In fact, he would do the same for Foggy. Right? Not creepy at all.

___________

The hotel bar was crowded and noisy. Good looking people of the city showing off like peacocks. Steve provided drink after drink, endless compliments, and obvious appreciative glances. Karen was the most good looking girl at the bar, and Steve was the luckiest guy.

Have fun tonight. Really. 

And why shouldn't she? Karen knew that dress looked good and it took no heightened senses to see how regularly she was being checked out, how many pulses raced for her.

Steve leaned closer to shout in her ear above the noise. She laughed, he pressed another drink into her hand and slid his arm around her waist. How many drinks was that? Five? Six?

"Hey, should we go get dinner? I'm starving!" Lips almost on his cheek to yell into his ear, his stubble brushing her cheek and that arm around her waist tightening. 

"Another drink or two first, yeh? Then let's... head out." His thumb and fingertips rubbed up and down her back, a mouth of drool, the drinks glazing his eyes.

Have fun tonight. Really. 

"You're stunning, you know that, right?" Slurred thickly.

A blush and she taps his muscled chest with her hand in rebuttal. In one move he pulls her in and with a wide grin, catches her bottom lip in a quick dirty kiss. She pushes and turns away, a nervous laugh - but all those drinks, the crowds and her heels means Karen stumbles and Steve takes the chance to steady her, both hands now on her waist, pulling her towards his crotch and burying his face in her neck. Inhales her scent. God she was drunk. A long week, empty stomach, too much whiskey. 

"Whoa careful there! Let me take you home, dollface."

___________

Matt found them in moments from his perch on the roof. Liquor. Pheromones. Sweat. The clatter of unsteady feet in impractical shoes. Wet tongues and lips, roving hands. God you're stunning, dollface. Karen's hands lightly pushing him away, hysterical drunken laughter, her heart racing. 

I don't need to witness this. 


	3. Saturday, 2AM

Later, the devil temporarily sated, Matt finds her aroma on the fall breeze. Karen's on the roof of her building. Curled up, knees to chin, barefoot and shaking. Goosebumps on bare arms and legs, salt water on her cheeks, and whiskey, bile and some remnants of her lunch splayed viciously across the tar a few feet away. Steve's scent enveloping her - stale sweat, liquor - but she's alone. One cheek glowed red hot, a rip in the side of her dress.

"Jesus Karen, what happened?" Trying to approach her, gently, concealing his panic, swallowing rage and guilt. You let this happen on your watch.

"Matt! Hey. You're here." A weak smile. "Is he still there Matt? Is he still in my apartment?"

"No ... it's empty. Did he hurt you? Are you OK?"

She laughed, hollow but braver. "I'm fine now. Lousy date. That's all. Nothing happened. He tried it on, got a bit rough ... so I convinced him I was into it ... he just had to wait a moment while I freshened up. And instead I left and came up here." She shivered.   
"Wasn't expecting it to be so cold tonight."

What. The. Fuck. Matt doesn't understand what she's saying. She won't look at him - he tries to reach out but she flinches at his approach. Pulls at her dress, wraps her arms around herself tighter. Holding herself in, shrinking into the roof.

"Let's get you downstairs, OK?" I never should have left her with him.

___________ 

Karen showers, while Matt removes all trace of Steve. Opens windows. Lights a candle. Cleans the smashed glass from a photo frame. What picture was it? Wipes their sweat off the walls. Notices the absence of Karen's Jamesons, grabbed by Steve on his way out the door, and dries the floor where he'd spilt it down his chin, drinking straight from the bottle. Strips the sheets off the bed. Fights back his own nausea at the smell of where Steve jacked off on her pillow. Seals it all in a garbage bag.

You filthy scum. Matt's knuckles are white, his teeth grinding, as he makes the bed with fresh linen. He couldn't have gone far. I will find him and I will end him.

"...Matt? You still there? You ... cleaned?" She enters the bedroom, glowing red with heat, having scrubbed herself raw in a burning hot shower. Steam, toothpaste, her shampoo, clean cotton sweats. Hugging herself and shaking, stepping forward towards him.

"Uh yeh. The smell." Changing the sheets for her won't make this right.

"Thanks. I don't know what to say. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about tonight. God, how embarrassing this all is. I shouldn't have drunk so much." A light touch on his arm.

"You have done nothing wrong. I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have been here, I could have ..." 

Karen exhaled, with a roll of her eyes, a note of bitterness. "You could have ... what? Beaten the shit out of him because he got a bit handsy? C-mon Matt, aren't we past you needing to protect me all the time?" 

Matt is out of words. Deep shame and remorse, pity and self-loathing. But this isn't about you.

"Should I call Claire?" 

A blush, hands covering on her face. "Gosh, I'm not hurt. Nothing happened. He didn't ... Really. I'm fine."

"I'll head out, then?" Her heart flutters, her skin cools - trying to be brave, but something has scared her. "Or maybe I should stay for a while. I'll be here on the couch. Yeh?"

Karen just nods. Gingerly, gently, he pulls her towards him and she lets herself be held. She's warm now but weak, still shaking, a few silent tears and her legs barely supporting her. Matt helps her into the bed; she lets go of his hand when sleep takes over.


	4. Saturday, Midmorning

Foggy. Foggy. Foggy. 

"God Fogs, what time is it?" Sleep had come reluctantly and Karen's couch was not comfortable. Midmorning?

"It's not early. Care to explain why your "home safe" text last night was accompanied by a picture of Karen's living room?"

There's a thump from the next room. Retching. Karen had found the bowl he left out for her, thankfully. 

"Not now, Foggs. Talk later."

"Matt! We said no secr..."

______________

Matt knocked gently on the bedroom door.

Karen is face down on the bed, a pillow over her head, groaning. He chuckles softly. "Come on. Up. Water. Aspirin. Dry toast. The hangover can't be that bad - most of the alcohol came straight back up."

Karen reluctantly rolled over, eyeing Matt nervously. Shoes off, tousled hair from his mask, but still all in black. 

"Thanks. And ... about last night. Thanks for ... well, everything. And for staying."

"Any time. But... I am so sorry I wasn't there for you, Karen."

"Urgh this again. Nothing happened. I handled it." A lie. Her mind flashes back to calloused hands reaching under her dress, her fingers pushing down against them, please no Steve just stop, please. You know you want it, you tease. Pressed against the wall. Heart races, sweaty palms.

"You're going to talk to someone at the precinct, though ... right?"

"The police? And tell them what - I had a bad date? Boo hoo." Mocking and bitter. "Let's see how the story to the nice sergeant would go. I didn't want to even go on a date with him, but I said yes because why not? And then I got all dressed up in something short and tight. I even bought new lipstick. And then what happened? Well, I had half a dozen strong drinks in a crowded bar, didn't I - where everyone saw me there with him. Everyone saw him touching me, me touching him. Everyone saw me leave with him. And he was kissing me and I was drunk and it wasn't so bad and maybe, God, maybe I was enjoying myself - " A shudder of revulsion. 

"And he was just joking around and he got my keys and then we were inside ... I just ... and it just all hit me, and I was tired and drunk and hungry, so I what - changed my mind, just like that!? I tried to say no, but I'd been saying yes all night and he wouldn't stop. Sure, things got a bit rough - but hey, some people like that. So I went along with it for a bit and then ... then, when I had the chance, I got out of here and nothing had happened and I just left him there in my bed, in my apartment, while I vomited on the roof because I was so wasted. Tell me, defense attorney, even if a crime had been committed ..." And it sure as hell sounds like it has. "... how would that go at trial? How long - how many hours, or days, even - would I be on the stand explaining that to a jury?"

You can't make this right. The system would fail her.

"Karen, I could ... " It would be my absolute pleasure.

"No. Really. Absolutely not. It's over, and nothing happened. I just want to forget it." They fume in silence at each other. Matt's fists itch, his teeth grind in frustration.

"God Matt it's midmorning. You should probably get home - I don't want to keep you all day. But thank you, again. Really. Promise I won't drink so much next time."

Like a door slammed in your face, the conversation was over. 


	5. The following Friday

"First round on me! Place your orders - Matt, Karen, beer? Whiskey?" Foggy was in high spirits. His case had settled in favour of their client, netting a tidy sum in fees for their fledgling firm, and the three of them were out again at Josie's. Just like old times.

Karen sat on a stool in the corner. A table between her and the rest of the bar. On arrival of the drinks, a forced smile and cheers and a slight shake in her hands. A patina of sweat on her forehead. Barely siping her beer. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan she had worn all week, no makeup, hair covering her eyes. And within the hour, to Foggy's vocal disappointment, she was grabbing her purse and making excuses. Tired (true). A long week (true). Trying out some new exercise class in the morning (a lie). Her drink mostly untouched, but then she was gone.

"Matt, you gotta tell me. Something is up with that girl. What the hell happened last Friday? Why were you at her place?"

"You've asked her?"

"And all I got was some story of having had a few too many and Steve taking her home, then him being a "bit much" and she handled it ... but she said she was fine earlier this week, and then she hasn't been around the office and I've been tied up with that settlement..." a guilty shrug. "Is there more I should know?"

Matt toyed with his coaster and weighed his options. Was it worth breaching her confidence? 

"And the local gossip from Steve?"

"Well we all know that's bullshit." Foggy, always loyal.

"The phrases I overheard were "frigid bitch" and "cocktease". Join the dots, Foggy." 

A pause to contemplate. They each took a swig. 

"She's been shot at - multiple times in the same day. Watched her colleagues and friends get attacked and killed. Taken hostage, more than once. Attacked at the precinct in her sleep. But this ..." Matt paused. "It feels different. She was so brave, like always, and she got out of there. But she's been scared, all the time. You think you've put the bad guy away - but Steve - he's a local favourite, he was her date and she let him in."

"Jesus Matt. What a mess. Could you ... ?"

Find him and beat the arrogance and sleaze out of him? Why yes, with pleasure. It had been his daily happy fantasy, and both the bags at the gym and some unfortunate would-be muggers had suffered as a result. 

"She doesn't want that. Doesn't think he did anything wrong. She, uh ... she was pretty drunk."

Another silence as they contemplated this and their drinks. 

"Ah shit Matt. That doesn't make it her fault - if anything he took advantage of that. Used it against her. Why are men such phenomenal arseholes?" Eyeroll. "Well I mean, not all ..."

"Don't say it. Just don't."

\---------

Get a grip, Karen. 

The cold sweat would start as she climbed her stairs, and her hand would be shaking as she put the keys in the lock. 

Nothing happened. 

The wall she couldn't look at and the garbage bag of bedding she couldn't bring herself to deal with. Sleeping on the couch, so when she closed her eyes, her hands weren't being gripped by her headboard. The burn in her cheeks, the humiliation, as she remembered rolling on top, laughing and kissing and grinding against him, her heart racing, head fuzzy.

You've survived so much worse than that creep. And nothing even really happened. A few rough hands, a slap? Nothing. Then you played him and you got out of there.

What if he hadn't let her leave for the bathroom.. What if he had caught her leaving the apartment. What if he had hit her, hard. Why didn't she grab her gun, but would that have helped? Having a gun in the house increases the risk of homicide. Dex had taken her gun off her in seconds, and had killed moments later. What if he had found the gun. What if, what if, what if.

Deep breath, calm heart. Crack neck, left and right. Headphones on, a prayer that the trite affirmations would take root in her brain and become true. Re-heated takeout, with the empty box left on the coffee table. Taking time to savour each square of a block of expensive chocolate, melting on her tongue. A nature documentary about the ocean with a calming narrator. Clean teeth and take a multivitim and some melatonin. Hand hovers over the Ativan. Don't go there again, Karen.

Nothing even happened, Karen. Get a grip.


	6. Saturday Night

Karen sent the apology text to Marci and settled into her couch. She hadn't left the apartment all day. 

Her phone instantly lit up: a stupid meme, one does not simply cancel on Saturday night plans with Marci. Followed by a text saying Marci would be at Karen's place in 15 with takeout and booze, be ready. 

Karen smiled in spite of herself. It felt great to have a girlfriend - particularly one who took no prisoners. There was probably time to shower before Marci arrived, and if she was honest with herself, she did need one. But when the buzzer rang, Karen was still in her old sweats, on her couch. 

"Sweet Lord, Karen. You OK?"

"What? Yeh. Fine! Just ... a lazy day."

Marci gave her a critical frown, evaluating the mess of Karen's living room. A week of take out containers. Unwashed coffee mugs. Garbage bags in the corner. 

"Why don't you go shower. I'll pour some wine and serve up."

Wine, at home, in the company of a girlfriend, had all the appeal that the beer in public had not. Twenty minutes later, refreshed and handed a plate of Pad Thai and a large glass of red, Karen looked around at a miraculously tidy living room.

"Uh, thank you ... you didn't need to ..."

"It's what friends are for, sweetheart. Now. Tell me. What the hell is going on? I want to hear all your news."

The wine flowed and they talked ... Marci's work, the lease issue for the office that had been driving Foggy and Karen crazy, Karen's latest lucrative offer from the Bulletin, Foggy's settlement, that new cafe nearby, the insanity of American politics.

"So K ...did I hear you had a date last week?"

"Oh it's nothing ... " Marci raised her eyebrows, and Karen knew she wouldn't get away with any bullshit. 

"Do you know Steve Riordan?" Marci nodded slowly. Certainly by reputation, and none of it good.

"So I finally agreed to go on a date with him last week ... I mean, I hadn't had a date in literally over a year, so I thought ... why not? And I got wasted. Just totally trashed. And one thing led to another, and he was back here and being all ... handsy I guess ... anyway, I left him here in my bedroom and escaped up the internal stairs to the roof before, you know, anything could happen. Just a shitty date, you know?"

Marci's face didn't move but her mind was in overdrive. First date in over a year, after more trauma than any one person should have to deal with in their lifetime, and it turns into a sexual assault in her home. Sweet Lord. She would have words with Foggy about letting this happen. 

"Yeh, I ... I do know. I'm so sorry this happened to you, K."

"Oh it's fine! Nothing happened anyway. Just embarrassing, that's all. I shouldn't have had so much to drink."

"Your consumption of alcohol is not the issue here. Are you sure you're OK?" 

"Yeh. No. I don't know. I'm just angry, you know? I've had one decent date in my life and that relationship imploded immediately afterwards. I didn't even want to go on this date, but ... I wanted to go on a date. I wore this stupid dress ..."

"You didn't do anything to deserve this, K. I'm just so sorry for you. But ... what are you going to do about it?"

"Um ... nothing? I mean, what can I do?"

"For starters? Know you've got nothing to be embarrassed about. You did nothing wrong and by the sounds of it, many, many things right. You should be proud of that. Secondly, go join a book club or an exercise class or something - you have got to get out of this house for something other than work, sweetheart. And thirdly ..."

Karen laughed. Trust Marci to have a plan for her. 

"Yes, Marci, thirdly? Not a set up, please, Marci ... not yet, yeh?"

"Oh no. Something ... maybe better. Karen, are you going to report this?" Firm shake no. Marci is disappointed, but continues. "Well, I'm wondering if you're the first person to feel shit after a date with Steve. Now I don't know any details. Nothing has ever been said to me. But ... from what I hear, not many women go on a second date with him."

Karen swallowed the rest of the wine in one mouthful. "I could talk to some people, if you knew of anyone. See if there's anything there." A shrug, but her eyes spoke of determination. 

"Yeh, I might have a name or two." A thoughtful pause. "Are you sure you don't want to report it?"

"Nothing happened! Jeez!" 

Knowing when to drop it, Marci changed tack. "OK OK ... but one more thing - Foggy said Matt was here?"

"Urgh yes. I didn't want to go back into the apartment alone. So I called him up, he came by and slept on the couch."

Marci sighed. The good looking, visually impaired lady's man Matthew Murdock, who Marci guessed was most likely the other half of that "one decent date", was miraculously available in the middle of the night to come across town to help a drunk and distressed Karen to bed. Sounds like there's a story there too, but perhaps not one for tonight.

"Aw, that's really kind. Now ... I like to tip Kahlua over my chocolate ice cream. Thoughts?"

Marci left the apartment a few hours later, happy to have left Karen slightly buzzed and tucked into her own bed at last. "Foggy bear, that girl has been through enough. Tell Matt to pull his head out of his arse and do something about it, or God help me I will personally ensure she takes the Bulletin job. Which, FYI, would pay her a lot more than she's ever going to get working with you."


	7. Monday

Matt heard her coming up the stairs with three coffees. Her step was brisk, her hair in a low bun, clean soap and powdered makeup. A neat shirt and skirt. Low heels. He smiled in anticipation, both for the caffeine and for whatever news she was about to impart. She radiated a buzz, optimistic and driven, that had been missing for the last week.

"You're a goddess, thank you."

She's holding the coffees back, out of reach. "And good morning to you too. Before you get this, I need a favour."

Please tell me it involves beating that lowlife to a pulp. 

"Anything. Just hand over the coffee."

"I need Foggy too."

"Well, he's right outside the door." A smirk, showing off.

Sure enough, Foggy is there within a minute. "Morning all! Oh thank God you got coffee Karen."

"Yeh about those coffees ... I need a favour." Deep breath, calm heart. You can trust us. "I want to talk to some people this week about Steven Riordan. Marci put this idea in my head that maybe there's a story there, maybe even a case against him, I just don't know. It will probably be pro bono." Foggy winced. "... and if it went anywhere, we'd probably be conflicted. Maybe we have a chance to do something important, but as usual, it might be controversial. I wanted to get your support first. Foggy?"

"Steve's a popular guy around the Kitchen. You're sure you are OK to do this, Karen?"

"Yeh, I'm sure. If there's nothing there, then no harm done."

"K, I'm all in. Anything you need." Foggy claps her on the shoulder - no doubt, no hesitation. "Matt, I'm grabbing my files and we're leaving for court in 2 minutes. You better be ready?"

Alone with Matt in the kitchen, Karen raises her eyebrows. "Matt? And ... you won't go talk to Steve yourself, right? You'll let me try it my way, first?"

Matt pulls his glasses off and sighs. "You're... " Infuriating. Perfect. "You make me wish I was a better person, Karen."

"Ha. Like one who shows up to Court on time, looking presentable?"

"Shit is it that bad? Can you ...?" She's laughing again, buoyant, a sense of purpose - last week's shadows behind her, moving towards the sun, and moving into his space. Light fingertips smooth his hair and are around his neck, coffee on her lips that he can taste. Memories of a different time.

"No visible bruises at least. I guess you'll do."

A beat, a breath, a moment of happiness.

Foggy rolled his eyes. "Matt! I'm leaving!"

\-------------------

Karen smiled to herself, alone in her office. It was time to get to work. Crack neck, left then right, deep breath, calm heart. 

"Steven Riodan, let's find out everything about you."


	8. The Next Few Weeks

On good days, witnesses would open their hearts to Karen. Matt would smell the shampoo on her flowing hair, that powdered make up she wore, hear her confident step on the floor and the swish of her skirt. She would share coffee and the latest baked good payment in the kitchen with Matt and Foggy, and an endless stream of salacious and hilarious texts with Marci. Giggling with Foggy at Matt's inability to take a photo, but thrilled that he was letting them into his other life. Justice, the truth, all felt within her grasp.

On other days, the leads would dry up or refuse to go on record for no fathomable reason. She'd see Steve on the street, and he would shamelessly blow kisses and laugh at her discomfort. Matt would taste the salt on her cheeks. Watch her hands shake, realise she hadn't eaten. Photos across her desk, images Matt did not comprehend, would make her snarl in frustration. The day of her meeting with a forensic examiner from the New York City Alliance Against Sexual Assault that left her vomiting into her office's garbage pail at the enormity of these crimes in her city, her powerlessness against it, and her deep regret for having said nothing to them herself. An oversized cardigan would be wrapped around her, as if she could be invisible inside it.

But the nights, when only a man in black on the roof was paying attention, were always horrific. Heading home alone to an apartment that never felt safe. Dex, disappeared. Fisk, locked up. Wesley, dead. And now, Steve - incomparable to the evils she had previously faced, yet present in her daily life. Showers that didn't get her clean, didn't take the memory of his hands away. The chronic mess she struggled to tidy away. Those garbage bags, still untouched. The self care evening routine that did not stop her from reaching for the medicine cabinet, hand hovering over the bottle, before self-loathing would hold her back from taking the drugs prescribed by a caring yet rushed doctor, who simply hadn't had the time to hear her full history. Sleep that wouldn't come, and when it did, nightmares that would follow. 

Matt and Foggy worried in their own ways. Foggy ensured food was always readily available and encouraged her to eat. He would sing terribly until her tears flowed from laughter. Matt observed her every waking moment available, tried to be better for her. Found quiet moments to remind her of her compassion, her bravery. But mainly, he funneled his sense of failure into workouts and patrols - self-flagellation in the hope of redemption. 


	9. A random Tuesday

Thai noodles. Beers. Documents on the coffee table. Shoes flicked off, shirts untucked. Matt pacing, going through their strategy for a file. Karen leaning back on Matt's couch, feet up and hair over the backrest, the flick of her finger on paper. Discussions back and forth, shared and differed opinions, next steps - a plan is formed. A good day, made perfect by an evening together. I don't want tonight to end.

Matt reaches out over the back of the couch to grab a document from her hands, fingertips meet her knuckles, his hand turns and almost involuntarily slides forward to brush her knee. Her slow exhale. A beat of silence, the hot flush of the recognition of mutual desire. It could be like this every night. Karen bites her lip, moves her head away, feet to the floor. Remembers vividly that other almost perfect night with Matt, so similar to this one, which ended when she laid out her heart and he was so kind in his rejection. 

Better as friends.

She grabs her shoes. 

"This was fun and thanks for dinner - but I think we've got the Smythe's sorted, and it's late. I'm going to go."

She's heading to the door without a moment of hesitation. Matt follows her, padding softly in bare feet. He will be haunted and thrilled by her scent in his apartment for days. Better as friends.

Karen breaks the silence at the door. "You're heading out? And ... you'll text, yeh?" 

He nods, reaching to unlatch the door, but pauses, hand on the lock. A thousand words to say and nowhere to start. Just say something. "Stay. Please."

"Don't do this." 

"I made a mistake. I thought I knew what was best for me - for you. I was ... not ready." Words rush out, desperate to have her understand. "Then that night I heard you with him on the street ..." Matt senses her mortification at this fact, but he needs to say this. "I was jealous. I knew you were drunk and I knew he was a creep, and I left because I couldn't stand it. And he hurt you. I left you in danger. I'm so sorry."

Karen purses her lips, eyes threatening to spill tears and lips threatening to unleash her anger. "You just can't help lying to me, can you, Matt?"

You fucking idiot. 


	10. A random Tuesday ... #2

Karen got home on autopilot. Was he out there, listening in? Walked up the stairs with the usual shiver. Fumbled with the lock, dropping her keys. Collapsed inside the front door, bolting it behind her. 

Always lying. Apparently to protect her - what a joke. Always blaming himself, feeling guilty. You're exhausting, Matt Murdock.

Headphones. Affirmations. Clean out the fridge. Wash up the coffee mugs and wine glasses. Wipe kitchen benches down. Marci would approve: send her a text to show off and receive a thumbs up and kisses back. Chocolate and a documentary on the couch. Evening rituals, unhampered by emotional turmoil.

Are you listening to this, Matt? Are you listening to me being completely fine?

Teeth. Multivitamin. Melatonin. Hand hovers over the Ativan, a slight shake. And in a fit of grim determination, Karen throws the bottle in the bags of trash, gathers them up and takes them out for good. You're not going down that hole again, Karen. Not now, not ever. 

An hour later, tossing and turning, she's still awake when her phone lights up. Matt: home safe xxx, a photo of an eyebrow and forehead, his kitchen in the background. 

Don't let his mistakes guide your actions. 

Karen: Sleep well xxx Grins at the thought of sending him a photo back, that he'd never be able to see - then realises in horror that he would most likely and with complete innocence show Foggy. Marci would find that hilarious.

What if she had turned her head, leaned in to his cheek as he leant over the couch. What if she had let his hand linger on her knee, letting it move up the inside of her thigh. What if she had let the kiss happen. Softly at first but increasing in confidence. The feel of his hair between her fingers, the soft skin behind his ears. His nose on her neck and his lips trailing down her collarbone, pulling away to check her enthusiastic consent, readily given, murmuring Matt, Matt, Matt, and fingers reaching for buttons and shirt hems and belt buckles. What if she had stayed. A sudden image of silk sheets, her nails on his torso, tracing scars and muscles, her arched back, more Matt, Matt don't stop.

Karen let out an involuntary giggle and buried her head in her pillow, releasing a scream, punches and kicks of happy frustration into her bed. Turn off your filthy mind and get some sleep, Karen. 


	11. The next Wednesday morning

Karen woke feeling oddly well rested. Calm. Mentally running through the day's meetings - a coffee date with a potential lead, some background searches for Foggy's client. 

Marci's words rang in her head. You did nothing wrong and by the sounds of it, many, many things right. 

A new resolve: I'm not going to spend another second worrying about whether Matt thinks this is his fault. 

Her phone lights up - Matt: "I'm buying the coffees today. See you at the office? xxx"

Shit. Karen had overslept.

\--------------------------

"Matt! Looking smart. You have court today?"

"No, just blind, Foggy. Suits are suits." Bullshit. Matt can smell fabric and Foggy knows it. 

"So that outfit choice has nothing to do with your date with Karen last night?" He's jovial, dancing to some internal tune, blissfully imagining how the rest of his life would go: Marci, the office with Matt and Karen, a couple at last, doing good, getting rich.

"She was just catching me up on the Smythe's file. We ate take out. Not a date." You're going to have to face him sometime. A hiss from Foggy as Matt turns around.

"Jeeesus! And the split lip and black eye? That also has nothing to do with how awful your not-date went, right?" 

Fingers through hair. Fidgets. No secrets, no lies. You don't deserve them. She still hasn't replied. Her coffee is almost cold.

"I found a few lowlifes and was a bit distracted. No major injuries. Just a few obvious ones." 

"Distracted. Sure. You haven't told her yet, have you?"

"Told her what?" Matt feigns miscomprehension for a brief moment, but relents, sensing Foggy's increasing annoyance at yet more obvious bullshit. "OK, fine, I said .... something ... last night."

"And then you let yourself get beaten up, buy the coffees for the first time in your life, and Karen doesn't show for work. Sounds like it went great." Foggy paces, good mood having evaporated. Stops, having come to a decision. "This is not my problem. You have to sort this out. And know this: if she leaves us for the Bulletin, it's on you."

The threat misses its mark as Matt suddenly tips his head to one side, smirks, and puts his glasses back on. Relaxes his shoulders, hands back in pockets, rocks back on his heels.

"That's her, isn't it - coming up the stairs? And she's going to forgive you again, isn't she." 

A chuckle and a shrug. "Maybe." 

"Spare me, dear Lord, from the arrogance of Matt Murdock."

"Arrogant? Matt? Never!" Karen has arrived with a laugh, hair flowing, powdered make-up, low heels. A good day. "You'd better not have drunk my coffee, though ... Jesus Matt, your face!" 

In a few strides, she's in front of him and cool hands remove his glasses, stroke his cheek, a finger brushes the cut on his lip. She's barely an inch away, once again almost in his arms in this tiny kitchen. God she smells amazing. Matt's traitorous hands rise and he is tempted to touch that silk blouse, flexing his fingers. Her heartbeat is steady, certain.

"I was distracted. Got careless." Enjoyed it. I deserve this punishment. Please forgive me. 

Karen sighs. "Anything big, or ...?"

"Just the usual scum." 

"Well, let me know if you need me to look into anything this morning. And thanks for the coffee." Her hand rests briefly on his tie, and she turns to walk out. Say something.

"... Karen? So am I ...?"

She stops. Takes a swig of the now cool coffee, slowly licking a splash off her top lip. "Neither of us did anything wrong that night. But ... you'll need to do better than a text and a cold coffee, Matt."

A breath that has been trapped in his lungs since she arrived finally escapes his body. Foggy rolls his eyes in the next room and appeals to the heavens, muttering "You're the luckiest sonofabitch alive, and she is a saint to even tolerate you."


End file.
